A Necessary End
by tomblover
Summary: Co-authored one-shot written for a competition ‒ Lara returns to Yokohama after the Dragon's Triangle incident and has to cope with survivor's guilt. Meanwhile, Victor Sullivan has set his sights on a new recruit...


**A/N: Entry for the Twin Pistols Challenge at Tomb Raider Forums co-authored by me (tomblover) and dizzydoil crossing the Tomb Raider and Uncharted franchises.  
Your R&R is highly appreciated ‒ happy reading!**

* * *

_**A **__**Necessary **__**End**  
by tomblover and dizzydoil  
_

Flash after flash, after flash.

It never stopped, but _I_ never stopped either. I never stopped walking. The frightening amount of cameras wouldn't kill me. Yet they seemed so dangerous, blinding me as I stepped further out on the dusty tarmac.

The putrid smell ‒ made infinitely worse by the heat ‒ oozing from the nearby fishing vessels started penetrating my senses like the intense camera flashes were still doing, but neither bothered me as much as the constant noise did.

Oh God, _the __noise__._

I had little to be happy about as it were, but I did surprise myself thinking about how solitude would have done more good for me right now, than ever.

Bearing the voices of thousands upon thousands of rabid paparazzi was something I just wasn't ready to do yet, if ever. They were all screaming at me simultaneously in their particular kind of broken English, vainly too since I couldn't hear them.

If I'd ever been a lady, I sure as hell didn't feel like one now. A lady wouldn't long for home, but that's exactly what I did.

No regrets, none at all.

I kept my stride up, probably looking stoic even though I felt otherwise. Whilst it was true that I wouldn't particularly care for my surroundings, a turmoil of emotions were bubbling inside of me ‒ probably enough to power a small city if negative thoughts could be made profitable.

Whatever façade I had was dangerously close to breaking, and did so when my world fell into darkness.

I bit open my recently healed lip in an effort to avoid screaming, my arms tangling in the leather of what turned out to be a trenchcoat. The survival instinct I still nurtured had warned for a scavenger, but all I'd got was a musky bundle of outerwear.

Relief and anger washed over me ‒ more so the latter ‒ when my nerves took it down a notch and I felt a well-built arm reach around me. He spoke quickly and with a distinct rasp to a nearby friend, both of them American judging by their accents.

Standing frozen in his grasp for a second, I realized the trenchcoat had formed a hood through which I could maintain some degree of much-needed privacy.

Thankfully, it muffled everything ‒ even the voice of my impromptu bodyguard.

"Don't be afraid, kid," he mumbled into my covered ear. I struggled to follow his guidance, being led through the endless hordes of paparazzi with my eyes still adjusting to the stark change of ambience.

I caught a glimpse of what I assumed was my "salvation" ‒ one of the sleeker makes of automobiles I'd ever seen.

"Who... are you?"

I forced out the words, causing a series of hacks and wheezes to escape my throat.

Something to drink would have been lovely.

"We're friends," said the man I hadn't seen yet. "There's a car straight ahead. If you wanna get out of here and to someplace safe, that's your best bet. We'll take you."

I'd guessed as much, but their sudden appearance seemed far too convenient. Paranoia settled in, despite my attempts to shun it. "Where will you take me?"

"Somewhere safe," he repeated with a sigh. "Far from here, that's for certain."

Good enough, I surmised. It wasn't like I had a choice in the matter.

* * *

_Oh__, __Lord__._

How on God's Earth did I manage to end up with the prettiest red-head this side of the stratosphere? Sat all perched on that stool of hers ‒ _right__ beside __me __I __may __add_ ‒ drinking that shandy she just ordered... not a bother in the world.

I mean, who could bother her?

Apart from me, of course. Nathan Drake's the name.

I was told my name was a famous one. Never really thought of it as such... Sir Francis Drake was just someone I looked up to, someone who was there for me when nobody else was.

Sully's bar was dead as a doornail. Lucky for me. Meant I could focus on the beauties in my immediate area ‒ my bottled beer, and the beautiful woman sat by my side. Of course she didn't know my attention was focused on her, at least not yet she didn't.

I'd been with plenty of women. I mean, _everyone_ knows that. I'm just unlucky in love as I usually put it ‒ and well, it's difficult for a man as good looking as me to keep the girls at bay. I was in love once. Elena Fisher was her name ‒ really pretty girl, couldn't fault her. She just couldn't accept who I was and so here I am. Looking for someone who loves me for _me_.

So I thought I'd give it a whirl, push the boat out etcetera (what harm could be done?) and raised my drink as a friendly gesture. Of course, as if I ever doubted, she returned the favour, but with an added bonus ‒ a confident and well-mannered smile. She was darn-bloody certain she looked fabulous, that was for sure.

_And __she __wasn__'__t __wrong__. _You can trust me on that.

Giving my eyes the chance to have a wander instead of anything else gave me the opportunity to notice her wonderful, and I mean _wonderful_, bright blue eyes. Complete with an aquamarine bikini clinging to her, uh, _shapely_ body and an accompanying throw-over, unbuttoned to showcase her, well... _killer __cleavage__._

Beneficial to me, no doubt. _Come __on__._

"So..." I said, raising my eyebrow en-dearly - making the first move. "Keeping yourself busy?"

"Busy? Not entirely," she replied "Is there... anything I can help you with?"

_Anything __she __can __help __me __with__?_ As if stroking the stem of her glass in the most suggestive manner wasn't helping me enough already...

Being semi-obvious about my next move, much like she was with hers, I slanted backwards to give her my infamous once-over, "...well hello, gorgeous," I replied.

"You can help me with a lot of things."

That was cheesy. _I_ felt cheesy.

Eh. Nothing ever, ever changes, Drake.

"Well then," she said, sharing a smirk with me.

I loosened my throat with a gulp of beer ‒ the heat was beginning to get on my nerves, hers too I assumed.

"Shall we, I mean, would you like to..."

She saved me the bother, thankfully... I couldn't believe this beautiful woman was for real. Lifting her glass of shandy she threw back the final mouthful. "Retire? I'd love to, Mr. Drake."

Score.

And wasn't she just like a damn lion.

Safe to say, I certainly didn't expect that what with her being as cool as a cucumber no longer than five minutes ago. Damn... was I lucky, or what?

Seduced, or let's say ravaged, by a wolf in sheep's clothing ‒ the story of my life? Sure as hell seemed that way, and I certainly didn't mind that now, or ever I think. In fact, it didn't even feel like I was on this planet, or in the whole bloody universe, never mind the bed in that room.

At least that was the case, until my ever-so-lacking-recently misfortune caught up with me and that God-damn phone rang. Again, and again, and again.

I had to answer.

_Fuck__._

"Hello?" I answered kind of dyspenically. Well, of course I did, since you know, that's how you answer a bloody phone when someone rudely interrupts a _most__alluring_ session of exercise.

"God-damn-it," a familiar voice yelched, "I sure hope I'm not interrupting anything."

My face must have spoken volumes, since Veronica gave me a look of sparse intrigue and disgust. I gave her a friendly smile, and pointed to the phone as if to say "I need to take this."

Without even saying a word, she noted that it was "okay," and her hand guided me to the door as if I didn't know where I was going.

Once outside the room I rekindled the conversation on the phone, and demanded an explanation. I'm good at demanding stuff. It's what usually gets me into trouble.

"Do you have any idea how _beautiful_ this woman is?" I continued, "It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"

"I understand kid," he stated confirming my suspicions that the man on the other end of the phone was my long running partner in crime and best friend Victor "God-damn" Sullivan, "but this is important!"

"Let _me_ be the judge of that, thank you very much."

"Kid, you'll lose the smug attitude when I tell you it's _Lara __fucking __Croft_," he paused, as if he knew I'd need to catch my breath.

"Lara Croft?" I mumbled, "Chick who was missing? _You __found __her__?_" I was amused.

"No, Drake. I didn't find her," he laughed, "but good news is she's not missing anymore. She arrived, alone, in Yokohama this morning."

Lara Croft. She was pretty famous, at least to me and Victor. He'd set his eyes on her from the very beginning, since her father was a big client of 'Sullivan Antiquities,' and he knew she'd be a perfect asset to company. That was the case, until she went missing on a trip with Sullivan's close friend Conrad Roth to uncover Kublai Khan's lost fleet. Sully was beyond devastated, he had lost a close friend and worse ‒ at least for him ‒ an _opportunity_. So like most things with Sully, his actions make perfect sense. His sparkling opportunity to make big bucks with a new recruit was back on the cards ‒ if only he could convince her, especially after what I'm assuming she has been through. I guess that's up to me though, right?

"...and you want me to go get her?" I added.

Typical.

* * *

It was frightening, watching the horde of paparazzi emigrate across the road as I did the same. Unified only for the purpose of scaring the living shit out of me, weren't they? I wouldn't be spilling any beans, so they had little reason to follow me like they did. Celebrity blogs weren't going to care, and the little footage they had of me wouldn't suffice for television if there was any sense of quality left among the media's cubicles.

I wanted to be pissed off but the energy wasn't there. Hopefully, the car would be comfortable enough for me to respite like I did on the cruiser. Perpetual fatigue had became one of my strong points oddly enough, it was something I more than welcomed to stay with me ‒ at least until I was back on my feet. For now however, I was content with getting off of them and into the car.

The seats were clad in leather, which further confirmed the car's exclusivity. I couldn't help but wonder just whose car I'd got into ‒ was I being led into some kind of trap?

"Just sit tight, kid. We're being knights in shining armour here," the guiding man said, releasing me so that I could scramble into the vehicle. His words weren't much of a comfort.

The glossy black door shut behind me, silencing everything and leaving me in relative solitude for a few seconds. I was literally speechless at this point, although thankful for the spacing between me and them.

In a matter of seconds, my "saviors" returned, one of them manning the car while the other sat beside me. They looked kind of dangerous. Dangerous and experienced, to be precise. Maybe I decided to sit in the wrong car after all.

Oh well. If death was imminent, at least I'd be passing comfortably. Shame about the smell though ‒ horrific amounts of cologne and a steadily growing odor of petrol masked the ever-so deadly smell of fishes, but I didn't particularly want to dedicate my last breath to such.

"How're you holding up?" the man beside me asked, earning a look of surprise as I didn't really expect the concern. I might have been judgmental but considering the scavengers' deceptive behavior, my paranoia was highly justified.

I felt homesick and scared. My answer was quite different.

"I'm fine," I struggled, barely glancing at him through unruly bangs.

"Just fine?"

"Yeah, just fine."

Lying through my teeth. Mother wouldn't have approved. Then again, she wouldn't have agreed to any of this and yet here I was.

"There's a hostel not far away from here ‒ great place."

"Sounds good," I mumbled.

"Right. You heard her, old man."

The car lurched into motion, forcing the paparazzi to step aside. Yokohama's low cityscape glittered in the morning sun, giving me some impression of hope as we picked up speed and travelled further along the road.

"The name's Nate, by the way."

"Lara."

I forced a smile that faltered near-instantly. His name was familiar, and not in a good sense.

Only a second later, I realized that Conrad must've alluded to a "Nate" at some point during our trip. Something clicked inside my brain and I shivered.

I knew this guy's type. _Bloody __hell__,_ was I ever in trouble.


End file.
